For Better or For Worse
by ilarual
Summary: Maka Albarn is hard-up for cash. Her longtime friend, Soul Evans, needs a wife to appease his family. She isn't interested in love, he's running out of options, and the end result, as you can imagine, is obvious…
1. In Which Soul Tells a Terrible Lie

**Author's Notes:** The set-up that drives this story is complete crack. Utterly ridiculous. Preposterous, even. So I beg of you not to take the concept especially seriously, as it's a crack situation. The story that results, however, I do intend to treat with earnestly... or at least as earnestly as one can take a plot that I'm pretty sure (barring anyone doing something I didn't expect) is going to be almost entirely pure fluff with just the tiniest flavor of (hilarious, given the circumstances) mutual pining.

So with that being said... on with the shitshow!

* * *

Soul Evans stared at the green-lacquered wood in front of him, sucking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, trying to shake some of the tension out of his shoulders. It didn't really work that well; he could still feel his muscles tying themselves in knots.

It probably said something about his relationship with his folks that he was standing outside their front door trying to work up the nerve to knock rather than just walking straight in as if he'd lived there for the first twenty years of his life (which he had). Or maybe it just said something about him. Like that he was a damn coward, among other things.

He didn't hate his parents or anything awful like that; he wasn't that bitter and pathetic. He loved his family. It was just that his folks had this annoying habit of assuming that they knew what was best for him, and they used this supposed omniscience as justification for trying to control his life.

_Soul, you need to stop wasting so much time composing, it's not profitable. It's time to get serious about your touring schedule._

As if he didn't spend a good eight months out of the year on the road all over the damn planet, showing himself off the latest "Evans Family Prodigy."

_Soul, you should sell that old house and move somewhere closer. Boston is so far away, we never see you!_

Which probably had something to do with him always being on tour.

Even if that weren't the case, though, part of the allure of Boston was the fact that it was, in fact, several hours from New Haven and, consequently, his parents.

"Dammit, Evans, get it together," he muttered under his breath. "Stop dicking around and just get it over with."

One sharp knock later, he was being shown into the sitting room by his mother's latest housekeeper. His father, tall and with shots of silver running through his tawny hair, was sitting next to his mother on the loveseat, sipping at what looked like bourbon. His mother was engrossed in the Wall Street Journal.

"Hey mum and dad," he greeted.

"'Hey' is for horses, Solomon," his mother said distractedly. "We say _hello_." She nodded thoughtfully, folded up her newspaper, and once the paper was set aside, she finally looked up and smiled at him.

He was so busy attempting to make his return smile actually look like a smile and not an annoyed grimace that he almost didn't notice the third person in the room until his father also looked up at him and asked, "Well, aren't you going to greet your grandmother, son?"

Soul's spirits immediately lifted as he glanced in the direction his father had indicated and saw that yes, his second-favorite relative was in fact present. Belinda Evans was ensconced in an armchair by the fire that had to weigh three times as much as the little woman herself, but she commanded the seat as though it were a throne.

"Gran!" he exclaimed happily, crossing the distance between them in three quick strides. He leaned down and wrapped her up in a hug before she could even get up from the chair.

She laughed against his shoulder. "It's good to see you too, Soul. I take it you've missed me?"

He nodded, and reluctantly let her go. "It's been way too long. You don't visit often enough."

"Funny," she said, with a knowing smile. "Your mother was just saying the same thing about you. And with much less excuse!"

"Yes, I know, Gran," he said, trying to keep a contrite expression on his face, but he lost the struggle against a smile.

"I'm afraid these old bones of mine don't appreciate trans-Atlantic flights the way they used to," she continued with a sigh. "But no matter, I'm here now, and that's what matters, isn't it, my boy?"

"Mm-hm. How long are you in the States for?"

She shrugged. "I'm not sure. I'm planning to stay a few months. Until the end of the summer, at the absolute least. And I'll be expecting to see plenty of you in that time!" she added, threatening him with one arthritic finger.

He chuckled. "I'll see what I can do."

"See that you do, young man!"

The sound of a throat clearing drew their attention back to the couple on the loveseat. "Now that you've said hello, don't we get a proper greeting?" his mother asked, getting to her feet and holding out her arms for a hug.

He gave her a closed-lipped smile and crossed the room to accept her dainty embrace. She patted his shoulder lightly and let him go after a few seconds. Then he turned to shake the hand his father was holding out to him before he retreated to the other armchair.

"How have you been, Solomon?" Caroline Evans asked her son.

He shrugged as he lowered himself into the seat closest to his grandmother. "A lot of the same. I'm playing a concert series in Toronto this weekend as a guest artist with the TSO."

"What will you be playing?"

"Grieg's Concerto in A Minor."

His father nodded approvingly. "That's a good choice. One of your best pieces."

"Probably why they invited me to come perform with them," he said, trying (and probably failing) to make it sound less petulant.

"They invited you because you are a world-class concert pianist," his mother said dryly. "And how is the album coming?"

"Eh. Kid wants me to just scrap the whole thing and start work on a Christmas album instead, figures it'll be more profitable, but I want to put together something a little more interesting than that."

He glossed over the reason he was struggling so much: this sophomore venture into album-production was unlike his first studio recordings. He wanted this to be a collection only of his own original works. He'd rather have the damned thing finished before he opened that can of worms with his folks. Until it was on the shelves and it was too late for them to waste energy changing his mind, he'd keep his mouth shut. He was perfectly aware that his parents did not enjoy his rather… _progressive_ composing style. He was struggling with a bad enough block as it was; he didn't need another three-hour lecture sapping what little creativity he still had going for him.

His mother nodded. "That seems wise. Christmas albums are for performers in their twilight years, trying desperately to squeeze the last dregs of profit out of their failing reputations. _You_ certainly can afford to produce something a _bit_ less trite."

Coming from his mother, that was practically gushing. And, to his astonishment, that appeared to be the end of the evening's interrogation, as the subject turned to lighter matters. He was incredulous, but as the reprieve continued throughout dinner, he began to be genuinely hopeful that maybe this time he was getting off easy, and was in the process of attributing this minor miracle to his grandmother's presence when they returned to the sitting room for coffee.

And that, of course, was when his father struck.

"Solomon," he said as he added a second lump of sugar to his cup, "I think it's time we talk about you settling down.

Soul was caught off-guard, and it took a moment for him to process what had just been said. "Settling d⎯?" Then his brain caught up with his ears and he sighed. "Dad, I thought we'd finished arguing about this."

"No we ruddy well haven't!"

"Linus…" his mother said soothingly, landing the lightest of touches on his father's forearm before her hand fluttered away again.

"Caroline, it's a conversation we can't keep avoiding!"

Soul was of the opinion that they hadn't actually been avoiding the subject at all, seeing as it was brought up at least every third visit to his parents' house, but his opinion didn't really seem to matter all that much in this particular debate. It was a topic over which his father was particularly truculent even by his standards.

Linus Evans turned to his son with a stern expression fixed on his features. "Solomon, you're twenty-seven. Wesley had been married three years by the time he was your age!"

"Yeah, and he and Marco had been dating since _high school_," Soul pointed out.

"Your father's right," Caroline said. "We don't want to pressure you⎯"

"You sure about that?" Soul muttered under his breath, and he could swear he heard his grandmother snort.

His mother continued on determinedly, accustomed to his sarcasm, and at this point, resigned to the idea of being unable to cure it. "⎯but you're at the age where it's really quite unusual to still be single."

"Exactly, Caroline, exactly," his father said. "You get to be thirty and still single, people will start to talk."

He raised an eyebrow. "What are they gonna talk about? The reason people used to 'talk' about bachelors of a certain age was because they were probably gay, and I think my brother has proved pretty conclusively that that's not really such a huge taboo these days, even in your set."

Linus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Why must you always be difficult about these things, Soul?"

"Look, if you're really _that_ worried about what people will think about me not getting married anytime soon, I can just play the brooding artist card," Soul said dryly. He tugged on a lock of his bone-white hair and gave them a humorless grin. "Shouldn't be difficult to pull off, right? Crazy albino genius musician with no time for a relationship…"

"That's uncalled for, can't you see you're upsetting your mother?" his father said with a glower. "You never even try to find someone, you know!"

"Of course I try!" Soul protested. And of course it was a flat-out lie, because he had only gone on a handful of dates since college (and for that matter had barely dated _during_ college, either), but his parents _really_ didn't have the right to dictate what he did in his personal life.

"There are dozens of lovely girls about your age that we know from the country club, friends of the family, if you'd just let us make some introductions I'm sure you'd⎯"

"Sure, Dad, thanks but no thanks."

His mother made some small noise, and he glanced over at her. She _was_ actually starting to look genuinely upset, and guilt stirred in the pit of his stomach but he stamped down on it immediately. He'd been guilt-tripped by his parents– and his mother in particular– so many times during his childhood, and until he'd learned to stifle the feeling, he'd fallen for it every single time.

And as expected, despite the frown twisting her mouth and the sadness in her eyes, Caroline Evans' words still sounded placid as she asked, "Don't you _want _to settle down?"

To which the answer was… sort of. The house he'd inherited from his late uncle was big and lonely, and although he would deny it to his grave if anyone called him on it, he was kind of a needy little bastard when it came right down to it. If he thought about it (and he really tried not to), he wanted companionship and affection and someone who would be there for him, but he'd kind of figured he'd just get a cat or something.

The trouble of finding a date– let alone an actual significant other– was really not worth it, in Soul's opinion. He'd never been that great with people in the first place. Add on the complexity that came with trying to find a romantic partner and he was pretty much guaranteed to fail spectacularly. Add on top of _that_ the extra layer of bullshit that came with being an _Evans_…

"I…" He was floundering, at a loss for how to reply.

"I wish you would take your parents' advice about this, Soul," his grandmother spoke up suddenly.

He whipped around to look at her. "Huh?" he asked, completely gobsmacked. His grandmother was a contrary sort of woman and she rarely, if ever, agreed with his parents on anything.

"The way my son–" She threw a glance at Linus, who had the grace to look abashed under his mother's gaze. "–is pressuring you is uncalled for, but he's also quite right that it's time for you to be thinking seriously about finding a nice girl."

Soul stared at her in astonishment. She was giving him those big sad brown grandma eyes that inevitably meant he was going to feel like kicking a puppy if he had to deny her anything.

"Gran…"

"You and your brother are my only grandchildren, you know," she said, a melancholy air about her. "Wes has found himself a wonderful man and I'm very happy for him, but you, Soul…" She sighed and shook her head. "I worry about you. You've always been so solitary, more than is good for you, I think. I'm getting on in years– no, don't you try to deny it, I'm old!– and I don't want to worry about you being all on your own with no one to look after you."

"Gran, I can… I can take care of myself just fine…" he protested feebly.

She gave a heartbreakingly sad little smile and _yep_, that was the guilt, right there. "I'm not saying you can't, but you isolate yourself, Soul. When it's my time, I want to know that _both _of my grandsons are happy."

She looked so sincere, and so sad. It was plain that she meant it (not that he would have doubted it, because Belinda Evans was nothing if not earnest) and it just about broke his heart. His Gran's approval was something he had always sought even more assiduously than that of his parents– and with much more success– and he could not bear the thought of disappointing her. She hardly ever asked anything of him; admittedly she wasn't exactly _asking_ anything this time either, but at the same time, she kind of _was_.

And to throw the thought of her eventual death into the conversation… he didn't know how to handle that.

And so it happened that Soul, astonished and caught too unaware for once to be able to pull his thoughts together before he spoke, proceeded to tell a lie that permanently sealed his fate.

"Look," he said, staring at his shoes, feeling strangely as if he were watching himself from somewhere outside his body, "I didn't wanna… I didn't want to bring it up but I have been… well, I've been seeing someone."

Gran's expression lightened visibly, her smile turning from melancholy to hopeful, and he felt horrible already but he couldn't stop digging himself in deeper, unable to dam up the horrendous amount of bullshit spilling over his lips. "We've been going out for awhile now," he said.

"Oh? Why haven't you mentioned her before?" his mother asked. He could hardly hear her over how hard his pulse was pounding in his ears, the bullshit running thick and hot through his veins.

"Uh… well…"

_Shit_, why wouldn't he mention a girlfriend to his parents? Well, he _knew_ why. He tried to tell his parents as little about his life as possible because he really, _really_ didn't need their "helpful" input. But that wasn't something he could say to their faces because he wasn't _that_ much of an ungrateful dick. But then what…?

Still feeling like a helium-filled spirit hovering over his own body and _completely panicking_, he glanced at his grandmother and saw the eager look in her eyes. "I didn't want to pressure her," he blurted out, his brain whirring in double time to try and make this sound like he wasn't making it up on the spot. "I knew if I mentioned her you'd want me to bring her to meet the family, and I really care about her, but I'm not sure she's ready to commit and… well… yeah…" he finished awkwardly.

_Way to bullshit, Evans. Should've been an actor, not a musician._

"Soul, you shouldn't worry about that," his grandmother said kindly, immediately making him feel 300% worse about the amount of _pure unadulterated horse crap_ he had just served up with a side dish of _pants on fire_ as an added bonus because he was _just that wonderful of a grandson_. "If you care about her that much, you should express that to her. No good can come from pretending to feel less than you do because you don't want to rush her. Emotional honesty is important in a relationship, you know…"

Fifty minutes later, Soul staggered outside, having consumed two Irish coffees, a miniature raspberry trifle, and more relationship advice than even a lying rat bastard like him should have to stomach.

Judging that the whiskey-to-coffee ratio had been just high enough that he probably shouldn't drive, he called for a cab and sat in the front seat of his car to wait. He flopped forward, face pressed into the steering wheel with a loud groan, because he might be tipsy, but it wasn't enough to make him forget the fact that he had just told the biggest whopper of all time. There was definitely a special ring of hell reserved for people who lied to their grandmothers.

He had managed to sidestep all the specific questions about his "mystery woman" (aside from the made-up factoid that his lady apparently loved irises) by keeping his focus on the supposed problem of him not wanting to rush her to commit when she might not be ready. Unfortunately, the implication then became that he _was_ ready. Which was… really not what he'd wanted to leave them with at all.

The end result of all this was that he was going to have to produce a Very Serious Girlfriend– or even a fiancée– before the next time he came to visit his family… and seeing as he hadn't so much as been set up on a blind date in over two years, pulling something like that off was going to be nothing short of a miracle.

It was unfortunate, he decided, that he had promised Gran that he'd visit often while she was still in the country.


	2. In Which Soul Has a Terrible Idea

**A/N-** Happy Valentine's Day, everybody, and thank you all so much for all the positive feedback! I know this is just a bit of silly fluffiness, but I'm fond of it, and the fact that some of you seem to be as well is heartening.

And now on to see if Soul can extract himself from this mess he's gotten himself into... or if he'll only make it worse...

* * *

Two weeks later, Soul was standing in front of another front door, this time feeling relaxed and almost cheerful rather wishing he had a sword to cleave through the Gordian Knots forming in his shoulders.

The door swung open almost a minute after his knock, and Maka Albarn crashed into the doorway. She was dressed down in jeans and a Dartmouth hoodie, her hair all tangled and sticking up a little bit at the back as though she'd only just pulled the sweatshirt on over her head before answering the door. Her face was a bit pink and her eyes shimmered green with amusement when she saw him standing outside her apartment.

He reached out impulsively and ruffled her hair a little. "Hair's a little crazy there, Maka," he teased, even as he used the hand in her hair to smooth down the bits that had been sticking up.

"Get off!" she groused, but she was grinning. Finally shoving his hand away, she added, "Please tell me you have–"

"Caramel corn?" he intercepted. He held up the bag in his other hand. "As requested."

"You're the best!" she said, beaming.

She dragged him across the threshold and threw the door shut behind him, and he followed her to the kitchen. Not that it was all that far, her apartment was tiny. Whenever he hadn't been here in awhile, he always managed to forget just how cramped the place was. He would be astonished if it was bigger than 500 feet square. And dingy, on top of it, because despite Maka's clean-freak tendencies, even she couldn't erase the evidence of slovenly prior tenants. He always felt really bad that she was stuck somewhere so crappy.

"Harv here yet?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Nope, he texted me about half an hour ago, got called in to the office last minute to help with some project another team's working on."

"Damn."

Maka nodded. "It's a shame. Watching Harv watch a movie is better than watching the actual movie."

Soul snorted. "With him around who needs MST3K, right?"

"Exactly."

"So I guess since Liz and Patti have the flu it's just us this week, huh?"

Preoccupied with pouring the caramel corn into two separate bowls (he noticed that one of them was stacked noticeably higher than the other and had no doubt which of the two he'd end up with), Maka only nodded.

Soul couldn't say he minded. His other friends were great and all, but he appreciated one-on-one time with Maka.

They had known each other for years. Technically speaking, one could say they had known each other almost their whole life. From five to eleven, they had attended the same elementary schools, and they had been fast friends nearly the entire time. It had been an unlikely friendship formed between a quiet, shy little boy and an enthusiastic, pushy girl who refused to let him be alone on the playground. They had been functionally inseparable ever since.

Until, of course, Soul was whisked away to a private conservatory for the arts to complete his education. They had lost touch aside from the one letter Maka sent him to inform him that seventh grade was terrible and he had better visit in the summers. He'd never replied because letter-writing was a pain, and that had been the end of that for over a decade. He had regretted it often, missed her often, missed the sunshine girl who had made his childhood so much happier than most of what followed.

Then, a year or two after college they had reconnected through mutual friends, quite by accident. He knew Liz from the record label, and Liz's sister was Maka's college roommate, and one fateful group outing had brought them back together after years apart.

They hadn't managed to reestablish the closeness they'd shared as children yet, for reasons Soul couldn't pinpoint, but she was still one of his favorite people in the world. It was also possible (he would neither confirm nor deny it if asked) that he might have a teensy little bit of a crush on her. How could he not? She was brilliant and terrifying and brave, not to mention cute as hell. But he kept that little bit of flutter in his gut tucked away at the back of his mind, because dating was difficult and awkward and the last thing he wanted was to make his relationship with her weird when it was so comfortable and reliable. She was just plain fun to be around, and a great friend, and he appreciated that immensely.

So all things considered, if their bimonthly friend group movie night was going to turn into a Soul and Maka movie night, he had no real objections.

It was also a nice mental break from the problem of producing his entirely fictional girlfriend, a predicament he had been trying and failing to forget about for the last couple weeks. He really couldn't see a way out of this without disappointing his Gran in the worst possible way, which was just about the last thing he wanted to do… so of course he was falling back on his go-to response of overthinking the entire situation and doing absolutely nothing about it.

An evening of movies with Maka was, therefore, the perfect distraction.

Sugary snacks portioned out, she handed the bowls to him and bounced into her living room (which took all of six steps, _god_ her place was tiny!) to pick up a selection of DVDs, which she then turned to show him.

"I was thinking since Liz isn't gonna be here, we could break out the horror flicks for once," she said. "So what'll it be? Rosemary's Baby or Silence of the Lambs?"

Soul raised an eyebrow. "Do you even have to ask that question?"

She snorted. "Oh right, you have the world's biggest man-crush on Anthony Hopkins. Silence of the Lambs it is, then."

He gave her an entirely unabashed grin as he settled himself into his favorite seat on her lumpy couch, balancing the two bowls of caramel corn in either hand so as not to spill them. "Anthony Hopkins is a god among men," he deadpanned.

"Whatever you say, shark-boy."

He gave her an over-exaggerated pout at the old nickname, but she didn't see it as she was too busy putting the DVD into the slot on the side of her decidedly undersized flatscreen.

Once the movie was in, she plopped down next to him and made grabby hands for her bowl of caramel corn, which Soul handed to her with an exaggerated sigh and roll of his eyes.

"How was Toronto?" she asked as the start menu began playing in the background.

"Hot," he complained. "Canadian. Mosquitos everywhere. Roy Thomson hall was under renovation so the TSO was playing in some shitty secondary venue with terrible acoustics."

She patted his arm in sympathy, but her eyes were shimmering with mirth, and he got the feeling she was mentally mocking him. "How was DC?" he asked in return.

Instantly the pseudo-comforting arm touch was gone as she groaned and lolled her head against the back of the couch. "It was three days with my father, what do you think?"

Soul grimaced. He should have known; Maka's complicated relationship with Congressman Spirit Albarn was somewhat legendary. "More divisive politics?" he guessed.

Maka nodded. "I deserve a medal of honor for keeping a straight face the whole time and not ripping his head off right on the National Mall and tossing it into the reflecting pool."

"Such a pacifist, Maka," he mumbled, just loud enough for her to hear and retaliate with a pinch to his shoulder. He playfully swatted her hand away. "Well then if the visit to Papa Bear didn't go so well, has work at least been decent?"

He wasn't really surprised when Maka groaned even more loudly and smooshed her face into the bowl of caramel corn with a muted crunching noise.

Maka worked a pencil-pushing job in the HR department of a software development company. It was a job she'd only taken out of desperation when she discovered her creative writing degree didn't have employers banging down her door to pay her rent while she worked on a novel. The pay was terrible, the work was reported (loudly and repeatedly) to be uninspiring, and unfortunately for Maka, the company didn't usually hire internally. More than once, she had applied for a position in the marketing department, which she claimed would at least be an intellectual challenge, but each time she had been denied.

"I take it no dice on the career change this time, either?" he prodded.

She made unintelligible noises into the caramel corn.

"That sucks," he sympathized.

More zombie sounds, followed by what he thought might be _Really thought I'd get it this time_.

He glanced around at the apartment again. It was a far cry from his spacious and– if he did say so himself– tasteful home, and his heart went out to her. She'd had her heart set on getting a better apartment once she landed a job with a salary that would actually put her above the poverty level, and now that plan was deferred once again because stupid AGOR Ltd. couldn't see what a gem they had in Maka Albarn. It was a shame she wouldn't accept his help, financially speaking, because she deserved so much better than this. They could be roommates if she weren't too proud to take help from anyone; lord knew he had the space for her. Maybe if he framed it as wanting to fill up his lonely house, he could… he could convince her to…

And suddenly an idea occurred to him. A terrible, wonderful (but mostly terrible) idea.

"Hey, Maka?" he asked tentatively.

"Hm?"

"What's your favorite flower?"

She sat up straight again, a piece of caramel corn clinging to one cheek, and looked at him curiously. Absently he reached out and plucked the sweet off of her, popping it in his mouth.

"Why do you ask?" she queried, eyebrows drawing together in confusion, presumably at the abrupt change of subject.

"Just… I have a really awful idea and I… um… can you just answer the question?"

Looking still more confused, she nevertheless said, "It's hard to say. There are a lot of pretty flowers. I like white daisies a lot, and lupine… but if I had to pick a favorite, I guess… irises, maybe?"

He nodded to himself. He'd thought they were, was pretty sure he recalled her saying something like that before; maybe he'd been subconsciously thinking of her during the Familial Interrogation of Doom. Why he would think of Maka Albarn while being grilled on the subject of his supposed serious girlfriend was a question he _immediately_ decided not to think about.

"Seriously, Soul, what's with a question like that out of the blue?"

He sucked on his lower lip for a second, wondering if he should even say what was on his mind or whether he should just put the whole insane thought out of his head permanently. But he had to do something about this soon, or he'd really be up shit creek, and he didn't have any other ideas at the moment…

"My grandmother's in the States for a few months," he said cautiously.

Soul wasn't looking at her, but he was pretty sure he could _hear_ her frown. "Um… okay?"

"And you know how my folks are always bugging me about settling down soon?" At her hum of acknowledgement, he continued, "Well, when I had dinner with them a couple of weeks ago, they may or may not have brought that up again, and Gran may or may not have gone all old-person-sad on me and pulled the _I just want to know you'll be happy even after I'm gone _card, and I may or may not have lied and said that I had a serious girlfriend."

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and yep, she was definitely looking at him funny.

"And that seemed like a good idea... _why_, exactly?"

He groaned as he slumped forward, elbows on his knees and face hidden in his hands. "Damned if I know," he said through the gap between his palms. "I was panicking because she was talking about how she's gonna die 'cause she's old and I hate upsetting her and all of a sudden my mouth was saying words and… yeah. Shut up, stop laughing, this isn't funny!"

He sat up again and shoved her shoulder in annoyance, and she fell back against the couch, still giggling. "You're right," she said, although the dancing light of amusement in her eyes said otherwise, "it's just _stupid_. And not like you at all. You're not usually impulsive like that."

"I'm aware," he said dryly. It seemed he was about to use up his entire lifetime's supply of impulsiveness over the course of fourteen days if he actually voiced the thought that was suddenly boiling in his head.

"Anyway, what exactly does all this have to do with my floral preferences?" she asked.

He heaved an enormous gusty sigh. "It's just… I told them that my imaginary girlfriend liked irises. And… I don't know, I was thinking just now that maybe… _gah_, okay, this might be the worst idea I've ever had, but–"

"Soul, if you are about to ask me to be your fake girlfriend, I swear I will fracture both your legs."

"No! Definitely not! Well, not exactly," he amended sheepishly. "Look, just hear me out, okay? If it's really as weird and crazy as I think it might be, you can just give me a concussion so I'll forget the whole thing, and we can pretend I had a minor stroke that made me talk crazy talk for a few minutes, but just… let me run it by you?"

Her expression said she was already convinced he was off his rocker before she'd even heard the completely insane idea he was having, and planning in advance what common household object she was going to use to give him the agreed-upon concussion, but she nodded her assent.

"Okay, so–" He sucked in a deep, bracing lungful of air. "–what if we actually got married? No, stop, don't hit me yet! Just think about it. I'm really not interested in dating so it's not like I'm gonna actually find somebody the usual way, and I know for a fact you gave up on the entire idea of romance before you were even out of high school because you tell me all about it on Valentine's Day every single year. So since neither of us wants to go that route, we could get married but, like, platonically?"

Her eyebrows were attempting to disappear beneath her bangs. "Platonic marriage," she echoed back at him, a statement, not a question, and laden with skepticism.

"Yeah. Think about it, marrying exclusively for love only really became a popular thing in the last eighty or ninety years. Before that, romantic shit was sort of like a boss-level bonus in marriage, at least for people middle class and up. So getting married to a good friend wouldn't be all that weird."

Maka snorted. "You're messing with me, right? You're not _seriously_ asking me to marry you just to avoid admitting to your family that you lied to them."

He chuckled weakly. "What can I say, you know I hate confrontation"

"Except with me, apparently."

"But when we argue, it's not really… uh… unlike some people I could mention, you're not constantly judging everything I do," he pointed out. "But seriously though, I'm not joking. What if we did it? Not just so I don't have to see Gran's face if I admit I lied out my ass, but because it kind of makes sense other ways, too."

And it really did. It was still a completely insane idea, but the more he thought about it, the more it grew on him.

"It would be practical, too," he continued, warming to his subject. "Tax benefits and stuff. And you could quit your job, because god knows I've got more than enough money just from the trust fund, not even counting what my uncle left me when he died. You could focus on that novel you're always talking about instead of wasting your time doing something you hate just to pay rent."

She snorted. "So basically you're suggesting I be your trophy wife?"

He couldn't help but laugh at that as well. "I guess technically, yeah. Except without all of that high society A-list bullshit, because you know I'm not about that. I'm just saying you wouldn't have to worry about finances, and I wouldn't have to sit around staring at the walls in my empty house every damn day, and it… it might be nice, you know?"

When he worked up the nerve to meet her gaze again, he found that she was giving him a quizzical look, like she might actually be seriously considering his… oh _shit_, he was pretty sure this counted as a proposal. A really terrible, babbling proposal, but still.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but you may have a point," she said slowly. "I've never seen the benefit of the whole romance thing. It seems kind of superfluous and messy and not really worth the risk; I'd always figured I'd just, um, find emotional fulfillment in close friendships, I guess? But I also definitely don't want to die alone, either."

"You see what I mean?" he pressed, "It's crazy, but it also makes sense."

"It does. But… what about you, though?" she asked, sounding reluctant. "Because I'm not interested in a romantic relationship with anybody, but I thought you were."

"Eh." He shrugged. "It'd be nice, but I don't think that's gonna happen for me. Last time I had a girlfriend was in high school, and I can count the number of dates I've been on since then on my fingers. I dunno if you've noticed, but I kind of suck at dealing with people."

"Oh, believe me, I've noticed," she muttered under her breath.

He shoved her shoulder lightly. "You're not supposed to _agree_ with me, idiot."

"I suppose you'd rather I lie and puff up your ego instead?"

"Nah, that would be something one of my emo chick stalkers would do," he scoffed.

Maka frowned. "Which brings up another flaw in this whole _brilliant idea_ of yours," she said. "What about the sex thing?" A hint of pink rose in her cheeks, and it was much too cute, which sort of unintentionally reinforced the subject she had brought up.

"What about it?"

Her frown deepened as she stared thoughtfully at her idly fidgeting fingers. "I'm just wondering, because the idea of having sex with you is kind of weird. Not because you're unattractive or anything, because you're not, you're very attractive–" She snuck a glance at him and rolled her eyes. "Oh _stop_ looking so smug about it, asshole, I'm not ripping off my clothes and begging you to take me now. I'm just saying, you're not a disgusting troll."

"What was it you said earlier about puffing up my ego?" he quipped, which earned him another shoulder-pinch.

Soul squirmed away from her, lips curling up in a mock-snarl. Once he had escaped her attempts to bruise his upper arm, he settled back into a more serious expression. "Really though, we wouldn't necessarily have to, y'know, do the thing–" Although now that he thought about it, the idea of having sex with Maka really wasn't half-bad. "–if it makes you uncomfortable. I mean, if we wanted to have kids–" Oh shit, was he really seriously suggesting that he and Maka have _babies_ together? _What the hell Kool-Aid had he been drinking? Abort mission!_ "–or something at some point we could, but the separate bedrooms thing is cool, too." _Nice recovery, asshole._

"But don't guys have… like… needs?" she asked, brows drawn together.

He snorted. "Oh please, that's just bullshit teenage douchebags come up with to convince their virgin girlfriends to give it up. I mean obviously I get horny and shit–" He delighted in the vivid shade of red Maka turned at that. "–but I've done just fine with my hand and some lotion for like eight years since the last time I got laid, so I think I can manage on my own if you'd rather do the celibacy thing."

She nodded slowly. "Okay, so basically you're suggesting that we be permanent roommates with tax benefits, then?"

"I know how much you like practical things," he teased. Then, sobering again, he added, "It sounds nuts, but I think it could be a really good thing. And I'm really not seeing any other way for me to get out of this situation without breaking my grandma's heart. Maybe it's really impulsive of me to ask, but it's really, really important to me not to hurt her. I don't know any other way to do that except this, so... please, Maka?"

There was a long, long silence, during which he panicked extensively at the idea that he might have seriously fucked up his relationship with one of his closest friends for the sake of an idea he hadn't even thought through before throwing it at her. Then she let out a soft breath and, looking at him earnestly, asked, "Can I take some time to think about it?"

He nodded vigorously. "Obviously. It's an important decision, take all the time you want."

She looked incredibly relieved, and he suddenly felt really bad, like he was pressuring her to do something she didn't want for the sake of getting him out of a jam. "I know this is really my problem to deal with," he said hurriedly, "and if you decide you don't want to it's okay, I know it's a pretty permanent solution to a short-term situation, so I can figure something else out. I just… thought I'd throw it out there. And if you think it would be too weird then we'll just forget the whole thing and pretend I just went temporarily insane and this conversation never happened, and–"

"Soul?"

"What?"

"You're babbling."

"Yeah, I'm kind of freaking out."

She gave him a kind smile that made him feel warm all over. "You don't need to freak out, this isn't going to make things weird one way or another."

Which was a huge relief to hear her say, but he most definitely did need to freak out. "Sweet of you to say, but I think I'm still gonna freak out a little bit, because I just accidentally proposed to one of my best friends and even if it's a bizarro platonic proposal thing it's still… surprisingly scary. I suddenly get why dudes get so worked up over popping the question."

Maka laughed and nudged his shoulder with her own, and her weight came to rest on him lightly. "It definitely wasn't eloquent, but you made a very good case for yourself, don't worry."

He was absolutely going to still worry, but he also had his potential fiancée borderline cuddling with him, so he figured he could try not to have a complete internal meltdown. At least, not until he left.

"Tentative yes for now, okay?" she said. Her eyes were steady when he looked at her, and her voice was soft, but despite her composure, something in the air made him wonder if she was as calm as she seemed. It wouldn't surprise him at all if she was freaking out more than he was, but it _was _surprising that she wasn't showing it. Maka wore her heart on her sleeve. He hoped it wasn't a bad thing that she was keeping whatever she was feeling right now to herself.

"I really need to take my time to think about it," she continued, "because this is really out of the blue and it's a pretty life-altering decision. But for the time being let's just assume yes unless I say otherwise."

Which, considering he had opened the subject expecting to get absolutely nothing but brain damage out of it, was a whole lot better outcome than he'd been anticipating. "Sounds good to me," he said shakily. "So should we, uh, just watch the movie now?"

Maka looked bewildered, as if she'd completely forgotten the reason for him being there in the first place, and her eyes darted to the tv screen, where the menu for the DVD had been looping the entire time they'd been talking.

"Oh. Yeah." She grabbed the remote with a hand he thought might be trembling just the tiniest bit, and switched the movie on.

Although she'd said things wouldn't be weird between them, and although she continued to sit more in his personal space than not throughout the movie, he could feel how much tension there was in her body the entire time. Her goodbye as he left late that night was also strained and a bit awkward, and he was left in limbo for several days, anxious and even more stressed than before as he fretted over the possibility that not only was he going to hurt his grandmother beyond belief when he had to fess up to his colossal lie, but he had also permanently fucked up one of his most important friendships as well.

He also frequently found himself wondering why _he_ didn't need time to think about this. Of course, he _was_ thinking about it, because seeing as he had a hard time thinking of anything else he really had very little choice. But he should have been more freaked out by this… right? Entertaining the idea of marrying anybody, especially under circumstances like these, should be fucking alarming.

But although he was panicking over the idea of having screwed things up with Maka, the actual idea itself still seemed like a good one to him. Maybe a little nuts, but the idea of marrying Maka Albarn overall felt like a positive thing. That might possibly have something to do with the fact that he did have a bit of a little crush on her; he wondered periodically if platonically marrying somebody he had considered asking out once or twice was really such a great idea. But he dismissed that thought. It wasn't like he was desperately in love and pining for her or anything, he just had occasional warm fuzzies over her, and the way he figured, that could only enhance a marriage… right?

It was a comforting thought, but it didn't stop him from sweating profusely every time he contemplated the possibility she might say no.

Then, almost a week after their conversation, he was stirred out of a half-dose at a little after midnight by the buzz of his phone. He unlocked it, squinting at the brightness of the screen, and found that he had a text from Maka. When he opened it, his stomach dropped in terrified delight when he read:

_I decided. I'm in if you are._

* * *

**A/N part deux-** This is the final reminder I'll be posting on ffnet that there is still time to sign up to be an author or artist for Reverb (Reverse Resbang). If this is the first you're hearing about it, links to further info are on my profile. If you want to make art or write for something besides SoMa, _please do_, one of the things the mods (myself especially) are pushing for is more ship-diversity in this event. If you're on the fence about whether you want to participate, remember that you can always drop out if it gets to be the check-in point in April and you know you won't be able to continue, but you can't decide later that you want to do it after sign ups have closed.

Speaking of which, sign ups do close tonight, Saturday the 14th of February, at 11:59 p.m. Eastern Standard Time, so if you want to get involved, head on over to the sign up threads (again, links on my profile) and get your name in the pool before then!

And now I'll stop pimping Reverb and go back to what I'm _actually_ good at, which is writing shamelessly fluffy crap...


	3. In Which Maka Gets a Ring

**A/N-** Well, after a rather longer delay than I had planned, here we are with Chapter 3 of this romp through the lands of stupid clichés! Huge shout-out to ProMa who, despite being awfully sick, took a few minutes out of her day to let me know whether this was complete trash or not! (That said, I've done a fair bit of editing since she had eyes on it, so any spectacular failures of grammar or diction are 100% on me.)

* * *

While in reality it didn't take long at all for Maka to make her decision, the few days she had spent wrestling with whether or not to accept Soul's proposal felt like an eternity. There was a lot to consider. She had a natural tendency towards impulsiveness– probably a trait she had inherited from her father, though her mother could hardly be called an extensive planner either– but this was such an important decision that for once she was determined not to let that rule her.

She had been inattentive at work– not that _that_ was difficult seeing as she'd rather not be there at all even when she didn't have something on her mind– as she contemplated the prospect of leaving this dead-end job for a life of comparative luxury. Although it was something they'd never really talked about in detail, Maka was very aware that Soul's family had _serious_ money. Even compared to her father's not inconsiderable salary as a congressman, they were a tax bracket or three higher still. Soul might not have the same kind of money his parents and grandmother did, but he had a hefty trust fund, and when his uncle had died six years ago, he had left him his house and a substantial sum of money besides. From a few things Soul had said over the years, she was under the impression that he mostly lived on his own income. He was a successful and much in-demand performer, and with his living situation fixed, he didn't have as many big expenses, especially since Soul had never been inclined towards his family's lifestyle.

And as for herself… well, she paid her way. Barely. She was behind on bills and her washing machine was broken and she couldn't afford to fix it, but her rent was paid on time (usually). She knew she could ask her father for help and he would give it, but she had promised herself that the last time she would ever accept his financial support was allowing him to pay her tuition at Dartmouth. She wanted to make it on her own. Perhaps that was a little prideful of her, considering she was very much not "making it" at the moment, but she was too stubborn to concede defeat yet.

Would marrying Soul for his money make her feel like as much of a failure as accepting her father's help would? But no, she didn't think so. A big part of her reluctance to take her papa's money– and her rocky relationship with him in general, actually– was because he was a rat bastard who voted in ways she couldn't respect.

Besides which, while the financial benefits were a definite consideration, if she said yes, she _wouldn't_ be marrying Soul just for the money.

Romance, as she'd told him, was something she didn't have much use for. It wasn't like she was aromantic or anything; she'd had crushes and had tried her hand at dating and relationships in the past. By the time she was out of college, however, she had decided that the exceedingly slim possibility of finding some mythical "soul mate" wasn't worth the bother of dating or the heartache that came when less lasting relationships failed. And yet, despite this acquired aversion to romance, she had still harbored a secret desire to get married someday. She was aware that it was contradictory, and she didn't know how to reconcile the conflicting feelings, but there it was.

Thinking about it now, with a platonic marriage– a marriage of convenience, one might say– presented to her as a very tangible possibility, she supposed that what she really wanted was the companionship. She didn't want to have to walk through the world all on her own, with no one who would put her first in their life. And Soul…

Well, he _would_. Maka had known him for so long, even if they had been out of touch for over a decade before their unlooked-for reunion four years ago, and she knew just what kind of person he was. She supposed if she had to sum him up in one word, it would be '_steadfast_'. She really couldn't think of many people she could rely on more than Soul, and that was definitely a desirable quality in a spouse.

All in all, it sounded pretty ideal. Companionship, affection, financial stability… somebody around to make sure that if she died, she wouldn't decompose before anyone found her. The usual requirements. It had all the perks of a marriage without all the hassle and heartache that came from actually trying to find a spouse she was romantically interested in.

And besides, she did love him. Not in a sappy romcom, hearts-and-flowers, I want your babies kind of way, perhaps, but she did. She supposed if she were to put a name to the feeling, it would have to be called platonic love, although it was different from the platonic affection she had for her pseudo-brother and her other friends. She couldn't put her finger on _how_ it was different, but it really didn't matter, did it? All that mattered was that, even as obnoxious as he could be sometimes, he still had one of the kindest hearts she had ever known, and she loved him for that. And he obviously cared deeply about her as well, or he wouldn't have suggested the idea at all. His proposal had been unusually impulsive for him, but she knew he wouldn't have even brought it up as a possibility with somebody he wasn't truly comfortable around.

Nearly a week after Soul had proposed (if his ineloquent attempt at persuasion actually counted as a proposal), the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back came when she decided to look at the problem from another angle. Namely, what her options would be if she said no.

And really, what would her life be like if she said no? Nothing would really change, her life would go on just as it had before, but that wasn't necessarily a good thing. What was she going to do? Keep plugging away at a useless job that had no positive influence on the world and only barely kept her bank account in the positives? Keep going to her friends' weddings and listening to the "it'll be your turn next" and "when are you going to settle down?" comments until she wanted to scream? Never be able to get further than four chapters into her debút novel because she was so exhausted when she got home every day that she didn't have the brainpower to produce anything particularly creative or worth the time it took to type?

No. She wasn't interested in that. If someone had told her, a decade ago when she was accepting her diploma as the valedictorian of her graduating class, that this would be her life, she would have laughed right in their face.

If she took Soul up on his offer, though…

That also wasn't quite the way she'd expected her life to go, but it was a positive outcome rather than a negative one. It might be highly unconventional, at least for the current century– though as Soul had pointed out, an arrangement like theirs would have been very common even just a century ago– but she thought it would make her happy. Might make both of them happy.

Maka felt, looking back, that she'd known that all along, and her decision had been a foregone conclusion. Still, she didn't regret taking the time to think it over.

Even after she accepted his proposal, though, the whole thing felt a bit chimerical, not a concrete reality. It was like the grandiose planning of a child, the heady daydream-spinning accompanied by giggles and absolute confidence in an outcome that never came to pass. It didn't feel _real_.

Until, of course, it did.

The moment that tipped the scales between fever-dream surrealism and terrifying reality came in the midst of ring shopping, of all things. She was trying on a sparkling diamond Soul had suggested, enormous and gaudy and absolutely not her taste at all, when it hit her abruptly that _this was really happening_.

Soul had showed up at her door that morning and announced that they were going ring-shopping. She suspected that his hurry to get going was driven by a desire to get this over and done with more than anything else, but it was amusing to watch him try to hurry her along and drag his feet at the same time.

She had to admit, she was frankly stunned when, instead of heading to the jewelry store in the mall close to her apartment in Medford, Soul drove them into Boston proper and lead her into a Tiffany's near the Public Garden.

"What are we doing here?" she asked as she opened the door.

Soul raised an eyebrow. "Getting you a ring, dummy."

"You're buying me a _Tiffany_ ring?" It wouldn't be the first item by the legendary jewelers she had owned. Her father had bought her a little gold Tiffany pendant for her thirteenth birthday, but it an engagement ring, she was pretty sure, was a bit of a different price range than a relatively simple necklace.

"Pretty sure my mother would murder me if I did anything less for her future daughter-in-law," he said with a shrug, hands shoved in his pockets. "And the fewer family lectures I have to sit through, the better."

She gave him an incredulous stare. "So you're getting platonic-married to avoid admitting you told a whopper to your grandma, and you're buying me a diamond from Tiffany's to avoid your mom bugging you?"

He frowned thoughtfully, looking for all the world as if he hadn't actually thought of it that way. "I guess, yeah."

Maka snorted. "You're kind of ridiculous, you know that?"

"Taking the path of least resistance with my family is kind of a reflex at this point, honestly."

She raised an eyebrow. "And spending crazy amounts of money on a fancy engagement ring is your idea of the 'path of least resistance'? I knew you were had a pedigree but I didn't realize you had the trust fund brain damage to match," she teased.

"Bite me."

"Just for that, I'm gonna pick out the biggest, most absurdly over-priced diamond in the store and make you buy it for me," she shot back, and breezed past him into the store with a broad grin on her face.

Forty minutes, one fawning sales representative, and a parade of obnoxiously gaudy rings later, Maka was running out of enthusiasm fast. She'd given up choosing pieces ten minutes ago and was letting Soul take the reins for awhile, hoping that maybe the kind of rings he chose for her would give her a better idea of what she herself wanted. So far, though, that tactic had proved to be an exercise in extreme futility.

"Why do you keep picking out these huge ones?" she asked him, restraining her frustration as she stared distastefully at the big square ring currently dwarfing her slim finger. "This rock's gotta cost ten grand, at least."

"Thirty-six, actually," the saleswoman interjected helpfully.

Maka glanced for just a moment at her in astonishment before turning her eyes back to Soul. "I mean, spending this much just on a ring…"

He shrugged, hands in his pockets. "Even if this isn't a love match or whatever, it's still a real marriage. 'Til death do us part and stuff. You deserve to have the full, y'know, bride experience or whatever."

It was awkwardly explained, perhaps, but it was still sweet, and so sincere she almost couldn't stand it. That was the thing about Soul, she realized suddenly; excepting the times when he was being a _complete shit_, he was always sincere. It was one of the best things about him, in her eyes. When he said something seriously, he meant it. It was a tragically rare quality and it occurred to her that she was lucky, incredibly so, to be doing this with him.

And that was the moment that it finally hit home that she was going to marry Soul Evans, her childhood best friend, she was in the middle of trying to find an engagement ring she could live with, and in a few months– or maybe even sooner– they were going to say some vows and move in together and spend their entire lives together and…!

"Why're you looking at me like that?" he asked, a puzzled frown on his face.

She didn't bother denying it, because she probably did have some cheesy sentimental look in her eye. "You really are a pretty nice guy, Soul Evans," she said with an unabashed smile.

"Yeah, right." He scoffed and looked away, and it did very little to hide his embarrassed blushing.

She very kindly did not embarrass him further by remarking on how cute he was being.

"Let's just find a damn ring and get this over with," he said in a gruff tone that did not at all match the way he was trying to hide behind his hair.

"Okay," she agreed easily, slipping the oversized diamond from her finger and setting it back on the glass in front of the saleswoman.

Soul eyed the platinum band and asked, "What's wrong with that one?"

Maka wrinkled her nose in distaste. "You mean besides the fact that it's way too flashy and too big and clunky for my hands?"

He snorted and shook his head in an entertaining intersection of amusement and exasperation. "So sue me, I don't know squat about jewelry," he said.

"Clearly, this looks like something a millionaire's trophy wife would have."

"I thought we agreed you were gonna be a millionaire's trophy wife?" he teased.

She smacked his shoulder. "Yeah yeah, rub it in, asshole."

"Yes, because you had _such_ an impoverished childhood, what with your father being a congressman and having such a low salary and all," Soul shot back, smirking.

Instead of flipping him off as she was tempted to do, Maka instead huffed at him and turned back to the ring case. She skimmed over the options before her, trying to find something that didn't seem either gaudy or tacky.

"Anything?" Soul asked, leaning over her shoulder to look with her.

She shook her head. "They all just seem so…"

"Not you?" he volunteered when she couldn't finish the thought.

Maka nodded, and slipped away from him to amble around some of the other nearby cases.

The saleswoman seemed to sense that she was losing her opportunity to close a deal and called out, "Miss Albarn, if you're not pleased with these, I would be more than happy to show you–"

"Not at the moment, thanks," Maka said distractedly, peering through the glass before her with interest.

"D'you find something?" Soul asked.

She bit her lip thoughtfully, studying her find. "Could I see this one?" she asked the saleswoman, without looking up.

The woman practically leaped the distance to the case Maka was looking into. "Which one are you interested in?" she asked.

Maka tapped lightly on the glass. "That one there in the middle… with the sapphires?"

"Ah, that's an excellent choice. Your fiancée has fine taste, Mr. Evans."

"Yeah, sure, just show us the ring," he grumped.

She smacked him lightly on the chest with the back of her hand. "Soul, be nice!" she hissed. She was pretty sure, though, that the saleswoman was not paying a lick of attention, too busy eagerly unlocking the case and extracting the setting in question to notice.

She presented the ring to Maka with an eager smile, and Maka slipped it onto her finger. The display example was a bit loose on her slim finger– as all the rings had been– but she liked the way it looked on her hand. It was much simpler ring than those she had been looking at before, a slim silver band set with a single round solitaire, flanked on either side by a pair of round-cut sapphires. It was distinctive and elegant, but it didn't overwhelm her little hand, either.

"Soul, what do you think?" she asked, presenting her hand for him to inspect.

He studied the ring, taking her hand lightly in his as he looked it over, then looked up at her with a slight smile. "It looks nice," he said.

"Hush, it looks _great_," she corrected proudly.

"I take it this is the one?" the saleswoman prompted hopefully.

Maka nodded, still grinning at Soul. "I think so," she replied.

"Well then, if you'll follow me, I'll introduce you to our in-house diamond expert to help you select your stone…"

* * *

Three hours after he had dragged her out of her apartment, they slouched into his house, Soul having proposed that they go to his place for lunch, since his fridge was currently the better-stocked. Once they had set themselves up with cheese blintzes– which, Soul informed her cheekily, were his personal specialty– they made a hasty retreat to the living room with the intention of vegging out in front of the TV for the rest of the afternoon.

"So what's our story, anyway?" Maka asked, flopping down on Soul's tragically over-stuffed couch beside him.

He looked over at her, brows furrowed over sleepy red eyes. "Huh?"

"You know, our _story_." She waved a hand in an ineloquent attempt to illustrate her meaning. "Like, what do we tell people? I'm assuming your parents and grandma are going to have to get a story based on whatever BS you told them that started this whole thing, right?"

Soul gave a weak chuff of laughter. "Good thing I was vague, then."

She nodded, biting back a grin. 'Vague' might as well be Soul's middle name. He had mastered the art of answering questions without actually telling you anything when he wanted to keep things to himself. "So what are we working with?" she asked.

"Nothing too detailed. I said we'd been dating for about six months. Figured that was short enough that me not bringing her– you– up to them was still believable, but long enough that I'd be feeling ready to commit," he said. "Like I said before, I mostly kept the focus on how I didn't want to pressure you into more than you were ready for. S'long as I kept hitting that note, they weren't gonna bug me too much for details, you know?"

Maka snorted and rolled her eyes. "You really get yourself into stupid situations, you know that?"

Apparently choosing to ignore her, he said, "So what do you wanna do with that?"

She frowned, lips puckering up as she thought it over. "It's probably best to stick close to the truth, right? After all, we're going to have to keep the story up for a really long time, so if it's as honest as we can make it, it'll be easier to avoid slip-ups."

When she glanced back at him, she discovered that Soul was watching her with an odd look on his face. "Doesn't it bother you that we're gonna be lying to my parents for pretty much the rest of their lives?" he asked.

She shrugged. "A little, but when you think about it, it's not a big lie, is it? We really are engaged, we really will get married, and we really do care a lot about each other. We're just letting them believe the exact nature of our relationship is a little different than what it is."

"...you're kind of scary," Soul said in a low tone. "Hey, do _not_ pinch me, I swear I will retaliate!"

Relenting in her threatened attack, Maka sat back against the couch with a smug grin on her face. "Seriously though, I think we should play up our history. We've been friends for a long time, we can play up the childhood sweethearts thing."

"_Were_ we childhood sweethearts?" Soul asked.

She tilted her head a little to look at him. "I dunno. What would _you_ call what we were?"

"Best friends," he answered, so quickly it made her chest fill up with happy warmth. He really _could_ be sweet.

"Whatever you call it, let's work with it. We were really close as kids. And we've known each other for several years as adults. It would be natural for us to fall in love, right?"

Her eyes met Soul's and he was giving her a strange, soft look she couldn't quite interpret. "Right," he said quietly. "Makes sense."

The warm glow in her chest was suddenly accompanied by a fluttery little kick, and she looked away quickly, uncertain quite why she was feeling so flustered by him so suddenly. "So we'd been friends for years and then one day… what? How did we get from friends to l-lovers?" She tried and failed not to blush at tripping over her own tongue like a shy teenager. It wasn't a weird concept, and she and Soul really were only friends, so she shouldn't be flustered by this!

He leaned back, hands behind his head, too casual for her to buy it. "I figure one day I just thought 'why not?' and asked you out," he said.

She snorted. "Oh _please_. You initiated it? I don't think so! If we waited for _you_ to make a move, we'd both still be angrily masturbating to bad porn and Colin Firth!"

"Excuse you, I watch the highest-quality porn available!" Soul protested, doing an excellent job of sounding perfectly indignant despite his pink cheeks. "And Colin Firth? Really? Isn't he like sixty?"

"Mid-fifties, and not Colin Firth now, Colin Firth like twenty-five years ago, thank you very much!"

He rolled his eyes. "Okay, fine, whatever, you get off to Mr. Darcy, not information I needed to know, and we're definitely not telling my grandma _that_."

"So what are we telling her, genius?" she shot back.

"Well if you don't want me to be the one to start it," he said, with a dissatisfied curl of his lip, "how about a New Years' kiss started it? Because like hell am I gonna be the wimp who didn't have the balls to just ask you out. I told them we started dating around six months ago, so we could've gotten caught up in the moment on New Years' Eve and after that we decided to give it a shot, see where it went?"

Maka blinked. "That's… um… that's actually kind of romantic," she said quietly, caught off guard by the unexpected sweetness of Soul's proposed fake origin story. "Yeah, let's… let's go with that. So… aside from your folks, what do we tell everybody else?"

"Well, Wes is gonna have to know the truth, 'coz I already called him weeks ago and told him to keep his damn mouth shut if Mum called him trying to get details, so he knows I haven't actually been dating anybody," Soul said. He rolled his eyes up to shake his head tiredly at the ceiling. "He is going to give me so much shit for this."

"You mean he hasn't been already?" she asked incredulously.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye for a long second, then shorted. "Good point. Mostly I've just turned my phone off whenever he tries to call me, though."

"Smart. I haven't seen your brother in ages, but from what I remember…"

"Trust me, he's only gotten more obnoxious."

Maka giggled, but settled quickly back into more serious conversation. "I also think I want our friends to know the truth. Or at least, most of it. Because obviously they know we haven't been dating–"

"You sure?" Soul asked. "Because with the amount of shit Liz gives me, I'm pretty sure she thinks we're sleeping together."

She couldn't help a snort of amusement. "Liz also thinks Tsubaki seduced the prime minister of the Czech Republic."

"Touché."

"My point is, I can handle a bit of creative fiction where our families are concerned– because trust me when I say it's better for everybody if my father assumes we're wildly in love, it's the only way he's going to be even remotely okay with this– but anyway, my point is that I don't want to go through with this if we're gonna be lying to _everyone_."

Soul nodded vigorously. "No, definitely, I'm complete shit at lying– don't give me that look, I _am_ and you know it!– and I'd rather just…"

"You'd rather not talk about anything to anyone ever, I know," Maka said with a roll of her eyes. "But we agree that honesty is the best policy with people we can trust not to blab to your grandma?"

"Yeah, I think so."

So that was it, then. She had a ring– or she would, once the diamond they had picked was set and sized– they knew what their story was going to be, and Operation: Get Married For Friendship and Tax Benefits was officially under way.

* * *

**A/N part deux-** There is a link to Maka's engagement ring on my profile, if you are interested in seeing it. Feedback is always encouraged and deeply appreciated. ^_^


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